


love language

by zenosungs (pastelkoma)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Kenma Is A Good Boyfriend, Living Together, M/M, Moving In Together, Overthinking, Touch-Starved, and needs a hug., but it's new and kuroo is scared of change, lots of love, pls just give kuroo a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26906302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelkoma/pseuds/zenosungs
Summary: His skin itches but it’s not one that can be relieved, it’s an itch of despair and terror. He wants that stupid damn hug, he wants to be reassured that Kenma still loves him, he wants to tellall of thisto Kenma but he’s just going to make everything worse.Or maybe he’s terrified that if he brings it up, it’ll just be confirmed by Kenma.That’s the impending nightmare. The scorching one that he wants to avoid at all costs.(OR: Kuroo is painfully touch-starved, and that's the trigger for all the other problems.)
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 26
Kudos: 361





	love language

**Author's Note:**

> hmmm. hmmmm..... hm.
> 
> not much to say here!! they're just two idiots in love!! well, kuroo is painfully touch-starved and needs a lot of love, and he suffers for a bit, but kenma provides well. kenma's a great boyfriend. they're perfect
> 
> yeahhh hurt/comfort is my jammm also i write rly weirdly and stylistically so if u don't understand some of the phrases... i probably don't, either... my mind just shits out words
> 
> special thanks 2 my beta reader!

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Kuroo’s story starts, like all great things in his life tend to do, with Kenma.

 _Kenma_ , who’s probably Kuroo’s most precious person ever ever ever in the world. He’s beautiful and soft and stubborn, the epitome of morning coffee on his breath and sleepless nights while Japan drifts to unconsciousness—he is silent, for the most part. He is quiet glances from the side of his eye, he is the embodiment of words swallowed down in his throat, he’s got boundaries and Kuroo knows. Knows that Kenma is not touchy-feely.

Kuroo is a firecracker who drinks the energy of others to keep him going, to keep his lazy nonchalant attitude up; crackling, flickering excitedly in social settings. The opposite of Kenma, whose energy gets _drained_ , while Kuroo gets _energetic_. Opposites, yes, because Kuroo _is_ touchy-feely.

Not to an overbearing extent, of course.

But he does require some sort of human contact on a day-to-day basis, and though he’s not an overly affectionate being, he still _needs_ it. Maybe Kenma can survive without human contact for, like, the rest of his life—but Kuroo is not Kenma, and Kenma is not Kuroo.

But moving in with Kenma is a new experience, even if they have been best friends for as long as Kuroo has known. Moving in with Kenma means boundaries, cautiousness, the ability to restrain himself from just reaching out and throwing himself around the younger.

So the issue at hand: Kenma has his limits, and Kuroo is terribly, irrevocably, painfully touch-starved.

(Sometimes being an affection monster is such a _curse_.)

Kenma loves him, he knows. Whether it’s a “You look fine, stop fretting” or “Kuro, you’re being annoying” everything Kenma does, _says_ , is his own way of showing he does care about Kuroo. 

But he doesn’t _touch_. He doesn’t let his skin brush against Kuroo’s, doesn’t fix him with a hug, which is fine, Kuroo tells himself. It’s fine, because it has to be. Kenma has his boundaries, and Kuroo respects that. So it’s fine.

It’s fine, he loves you, anyway.

But it’s all still so _new_ —waking up next to his most precious person ever, sharing a forever bed and not just a one-time-sleepover bed, _living_ together. Kuroo has spent most of his life in Kenma’s unwavering presence, but still. Still. This is different, and scary, and a little unfamiliar, especially to somebody like Kuroo who always seems so self-assured. Where do Kenma’s boundaries lie, now that they’re _together_ together, in _their_ apartment, as, like, a _real thing?_

He doesn’t know. And judging by Kenma’s sharp eyes, so silently powerful as they always manage to be, Kuroo thinks it’s safer to assume. He _knows_ Kenma; just like they never change, that doesn’t change, either. He knows Kenma, so that means touching is a red line between them, even if they’re together together, as, like, a real thing. At least until Kenma lets him know otherwise.

(Kuroo treasures him, cherishes him _so much_ —he can’t fuck this up right when they’re wading in uncharted waters, new and unfamiliar.)

Kuroo falls asleep a disaster, a foot of space between him and Kenma every night, ever since they settled a few days ago. He thinks he may very well explode in the middle of the night, but a) that would hurt Kenma, and b) he’s selfish for feeling so itchy just because he wants skinship so badly.

He can’t help it, though. He’s a disaster in pajama pants on stiflingly hot nights in Japan’s wake, probably .2 seconds away from ruining everything around him, but that’s fine. It’s fine. It has to be.

  
  


\---

  
  


He wakes up, quite literally, on the wrong side of the bed.

It’s Day 5 of living with Kenma in their apartment (and he’s still counting), and it’s also Sunday morning, which means two things. Kenma will lie in bed longer than usual; and today is pancake breakfast. 

It’s not new, of course. That’s routine since they were little, except one of their parents would be the one to make the pancakes, but Sunday mornings typically meant Kenma would lie in bed for approximately an hour more than usual. Kuroo knows Kenma, but he doesn’t really know the cause of this particular habit, but it’s endearing. So, so painfully endearing.

Kuroo opens his eyes and realizes, in a flash of lightning-quick realization, he is not on his side of the bed. Even through a cloud of sleepy disorientation, he knows, because even after just five days he already knows where his designated sleeping area is, and the boundaries he put for it. 

He’s too close, _too close_ —

Kenma is less than a foot away from him, eyes fixated on the ceiling, blanket sitting pretty at the waist and hands buried under it. His face is unreadable, even with golden streams of sunlight pouring and licking at his cheeks so sweetly, but all Kuroo knows is that he could’ve just overstepped his boundaries—which is the _last_ thing he wants to do with Kenma.

Kuroo scrambles back immediately, a stinging in his heart palpitating painfully, as the feeling of _too close too close too close_ starts setting in—

“Morning,” Kenma says, and his voice is unreadable, too.

(It stirs a storm in Kuroo’s stomach, a brewing one, one that he hopes won’t escalate into a hurricane.)

Calm and calculated. Kuroo thinks about this as he answers with a steady, “Hey, morning to you, too.”

Had he been too close? He was less than a foot away from Kenma, was that too much? Kenma isn’t saying anything about it, but then again, when does Kenma prefer to talk? He was probably too close, wasn’t he? Oh, fuck, only Day 5 and Kuroo already fucked this _entire thing up—_

“Kuroo, we just woke up,” Kenma murmurs, tone disapproving. His voice, small and soft even though the Sunday sunlight is even softer, adorning Kenma’s pretty cheeks and dripping from his eyelashes like honey, spilling over his lips and tinting them pearlescent gold. Kuroo _aches_. He aches, aches, aches. 

_We just woke up,_ Kenma had said. Ah. Kenma can read Kuroo like a book, can notice when he’s thinking hard about something. Kuroo is definitely thinking right now, fingers twitching from their positions resting on the soft bedsheets, fingers that want to just grasp onto Kenma’s shoulders and tug him in for a hug. Wants to trace his fingers along those sun-splashed cheeks, wants to run a thumb over the soft pout of Kenma’s lips. 

But, ah. Kuroo can’t be so selfish.

Tucking those thoughts into the back of his mind, Kuroo lets the corners of his lips turn up into his well-known smirk, grasping for a few pieces of familiarity, the familiarity that is slipping through his grip. All of this is so scary and not right. Not the foot of space between them as they sleep, not the way Kenma isn’t giving any clues as to how he feels. Nothing.

He deals with it, though. He lets himself focus on Kenma’s pretty face, busying himself with ghosting his gaze over the same features that he’s grown to know and love. If he can’t touch Kenma, he can settle for this—just looking at him, admiring him like he’s the only person in the world. He is, and to Kuroo, that’s enough to satisfy him right now. It’s enough.

Kenma takes notice of the way Kuroo’s gaze lingers, and his pretty face screws up a little bit. It’s so fucking _cute_. Even his voice is cute (maybe just to Kuroo, but just everything about Kenma he finds cute), as he asks in a soft mutter, “Why are you staring?” 

Kuroo opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “Because there’s a cute fuckin’ kitten in front of me, y’know,” he says in response. It never gets old, the way Kenma always wears an expression of disgust once Kuroo says some terribly cheesy shit like that. Simultaneously it’s still so endearing, because Kenma just is. Endearing, that is. Kuroo can’t possibly name all the times where Kenma makes his heart twist with a fondness that makes the vessel absolutely expand.

It causes affection to flicker within Kuroo, softening the ache that is sitting and settling there. He can keep the brewing storm down right now, even if he has to force himself to do so. Right now, it’s a lazy Sunday morning and Kuroo will not allow himself to be so selfish and itchy and longing for _so much._

“...Stop gawking. There’s nothing for you to stare at,” Kenma mumbles, gaze flitting from Kuroo’s to look back up at the ceiling again. He hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary about how Kuroo had woken up way too close to him, which means he either doesn’t care, or he cares too much so that he will just keep his bothered thoughts to himself. Kuroo doesn’t know which it is. _Kenma_ , who’s usually so easy to predict; _Kenma_ , who Kuroo knows; _Kenma_ , who seems so far away from him even as they’re in the same bed with about a foot of space in between their bodies. Their body heat flickers, mingles, but remain to their respective selves. There’s only a foot of space between them, but Kenma feels miles away.

(Kuroo twitches with so much longing that it’s physically starting to really, really hurt.)

“I said stop,” Kenma insists again, and Kuroo knows very well that he might throw a pillow at him. In any normal circumstance, Kuroo would throw the pillow right back then pin Kenma to the bed and tickle him to potential death or something, but this is not a normal circumstance. If Kuroo is this discontented about the unfamiliarity that saturates their every movement and every inch of the room, he can only imagine how Kenma is feeling. 

It’s safe to not touch him. It’s safe to not lay a finger on him.

Repeating this mantra in his mind, Kuroo only lets his smile grow. “Stop? That’s not a very appealing option, Kenma.” He lets out a laugh, warm and rumbling from deep within his chest. When Kenma breaks his gaze from the ceiling he shoots Kuroo a very dirty glare that could kill someone, but it only makes Kuroo feel even warmer.

Banter. That triggers a spark of ordinariness, which Kuroo so desperately needs.

“You’re annoying. Make breakfast or something,” Kenma replies, voice being carried by an exasperated sigh as he averts his eyes from Kuroo’s face in order to fixate it on the ceiling once more. Kuroo watches, in fond fascination, as Kenma tugs the blanket from where it sits on his waist, pulling it up to his chest so that now it rests under his chin. “And I’m cold.”

(Oh. _Oh_.)

The warmth seeps from Kuroo’s chest as quickly as it came, replaced only by the aching feeling of longing that just managed to slip from his mind for a few seconds. Kenma is cold. Kenma is cold, something that Kuroo can fix with a cuddle or something, a gentle hug, maybe even an affectionate press of lips to Kenma’s temple. Maybe even to his cheek, where he can press his lips against the warm sunlight that sits there, if Kuroo was feeling selfish.

But Kuroo is not feeling selfish. Kuroo is merely _feeling_. Feeling and longing, the two companions, helping brew the storm that continues to spark under the surface.

Kenma is cold, but Kuroo respects his boundaries, so there’s nothing he can do about that in terms of skinship, no matter how much he’s hurting at the thought of just scooping Kenma into his arms or something. 

“It’ll get warmer soon, just wait for the sun to get up more or something,” Kuroo says dismissively, even though there is just so much he wants to say. Words like _let me hold you_ , words like _I want you_ , words like _I really just need you in my arms_. But instead, he says, “I can get an extra blanket in the closet, if you want.”

(It’s too polite, too polite and unsettling. The familiar feeling of banter also seeps away, just as the warmth in his chest did.)

“It’s okay,” Kenma mutters, and if he picks up on the uncomfortable atmosphere the room is taking on, he doesn’t let his expression show it. “And I was kidding about breakfast, by the way. You can stay here for a bit if you want. It’s your bed, too, y’know, Kuroo.”

“Ah, I know,” Kuroo says, too quickly. His skin tingles. “But if you—if you’re hungry, I can—”

“...Try relaxing first,” Kenma says, voice terse and careful, cautious like he’s trying to figure out why Kuroo is acting so weird. Kuroo knows it, but he can’t stop himself from walking on eggshells. He can’t fuck up, he _won’t_ fuck up. “You’re really tense.”

“I know,” he says in reply, too quickly once again. He swallows thickly and looks at the ceiling, eyes squinting as rays of sun begin their steady crawl across the ceiling. His muscles ache and his skin prickles, and, oh gosh, he just wants to reach out and let his fingers rove over Kenma’s skin and maybe bring him in for a kiss, too. 

He’s not selfish. He isn’t selfish.

They lay like that for maybe another half hour, Kuroo doesn’t know, doesn’t keep track of the time as the minutes slip through his fingers like the morning sun. He gets up when he feels like his bones might break, and (attempts to) make breakfast as Kenma sits on the couch with his PSP in his hands.

There’s a foot of space between them as they eat their breakfast.

  
  


\---

  
  
  


Kuroo knows a lot of things. Knows the periodic table, knows how to be a good middle blocker, knows how to make people swoon with just one stupid smirk of his. 

He doesn’t know how to approach Kenma right now, though. Out of all the things in the world that he—Kuroo Tetsurou, and coined as Kenma’s best-friend-but-also-kind-of-boyfriend—should know, he doesn’t know how to do this one thing that he’s always been oh so good at. It’s hard for other people to approach someone as closed off as Kenma, but for Kuroo, it’s easy.

He knows him. He knows him too well.

He doesn’t know him at all right now, though. The only time Kenma was hard to approach was when they had just met and Kenma was doing that thing where he tried not to make himself known in any setting that involved socializing (however, Kuroo is pushy, hence why they’re so close now). Everything after that fell into place, just as they did. Just as they do.

They’re currently an unsolved puzzle, however. 

It’s Day 6 of moving in with Kenma, and Kuroo has not stopped counting. Every day he feels more and more disconnected from—everything, really. Kenma isn’t even giving any clues as to how he feels about the unfamiliarity that has settled between them, unreadable as he had been when they had first met. 

Kuroo wakes on the correct side of the bed this time, facing away from Kenma as he blinks his eyes open. It’s Monday, which means Kenma has to wake up earlier than usual and do some weird streaming shit for his gaming job or whatever, which means Kuroo has to be a bit more quiet. 

(Kenma’s job is taking time to get used to, the same as everything else. Kuroo hates it. Why can’t everything just feel okay and _normal_ again?)

Mondays are cold. Kuroo’s toes feel slightly frozen under the covers, where he’s snuggled and facing the wall as he blinks his eyes open after being roused from his sleep by a sharp poke of a finger to his back.

“Kuro. Get up now.”

At this he jerks to consciousness easier _(had I bothered him? Wait, fuck, my alarm didn’t work today, did I oversleep? Did I—)_ and turns his body so that he’s looking at the ceiling instead of the wall. Upon further observation he notices that he had been frighteningly close to falling off the edge of the bed if he hadn’t turned over, and that there’s a good foot of space between him and Kenma. Even in sleep, he knows to keep his boundaries and give Kenma space.

He silently applauds himself for that, even if the thought gives him a sickening feeling in his stomach.

“Sorry, fuck,” Kuroo says, voice gruff as it always is in the mornings. He looks at Kenma, and on instinct, his hand moves and reaches out for the catlike boy, fingers getting ready to coil around a shoulder and tug him in for a good morning hug, perhaps even a kiss to the temple or—

He blinks and stops himself before he can have the chance to make skin-to-skin contact with Kenma, fingers twitching before returning to Kuroo’s side. He hisses to himself, biting the inside of his cheek; he almost lost himself there, but he didn’t. Kuroo is not selfish, and Kuroo respects Kenma’s solidified and obvious boundaries. For this, he silently applauds himself again. This makes the sickening feeling in his stomach expand and begin its slow spread to the rest of him.

Kuroo looks at him with quizzical eyes, golden and reflecting against the sun. Kuroo aches with love, Kuroo aches with longing, Kuroo aches with fear and yearning. He aches silently, fingers twitching at their resting spot against his side, as they had been so ready for skinship. 

Not yet, though. Maybe never. At least, until he knows that Kenma would be okay with it.

(But when will that be? Can Kuroo be able to go much longer with this?)

“...Let’s get up,” Kenma repeats, pink lips so pretty in the rising sun. Kuroo wants him in every sense of the words, and wants so much more than the foot of space that’s between them. “I… have to stream soon.”

Kuroo’s throat feels dry. Kenma’s got his morning and afternoon planned out, maybe even his night, but Kuroo doesn’t even know what’s on his agenda for today. How is it fair that Kenma isn’t torn apart over this? Well, Kenma isn’t touchy-feely so it’s naturally understandable, but, still. _Still_. Kuroo feels like there’s fire and ice nipping at his skin and his muscles are going to pop because all he wants to do is get a fucking _hug_ or something.

(Maybe Kenma doesn’t want him as much as Kuroo wants him.)

((Maybe Kenma is tired of him already.))

(((It’s only Day 6, but—maybe. _Maybe_.)))

And yet, Kuroo can’t blame him. Kuroo doesn’t deal well with change, and this was a change, and now he’s suffering the consequences; he’s so painfully touch starved, Kenma is absolutely unreadable when usually Kuroo is the only one who can read him, and Kuroo still can’t make a proper breakfast.

“Kuro.”

Kenma says his name in a way that’s soft, maybe a little bit delicate, bordering on the edge of _are you okay?_ and _you’re not okay_. Kuroo avoids his gaze, even though Kenna’s catlike eyes have a tendency to behold a piercing stare. 

“Is something wrong?”

The fated question.

Kuroo knows he’s been acting weird and walking on eggshells around Kenma, and so there’s another unfair thing: Kenma can read Kuroo easily, and as of recent, Kuroo can't read Kenma at all. 

Kuroo hesitates, glaring at the ceiling. Is he okay? He wouldn't exactly say he is, but it’s pathetic for the reason to be “I think you don’t like living with me and that scares me so I’m distancing myself and also I’m super touch-starved so please give me a hug.” It doesn’t even feel anywhere near valid.

Kenma is still waiting for an answer that Kuroo is having trouble providing. He settles for a quiet, “Everything is okay,” still looking at the ceiling and noting the way the sunlight weaves between the ridges on the popcorn texture. He can’t look at Kenma right now, can’t bear to look at the foot of space that is still sitting in between them. This isn’t how lovers should be acting, is it? So far away, so _disconnected?_

“...That wasn’t my question,” Kenma says, making Kuroo blink. He reiterates, “I asked if _you_ were okay, Kuro.”

(Kuroo’s mouth is dry and sticky and he wants he wants _he wants he wants—_ )

“Yeah,” he rasps out, sounding much more not-okay than he initially intended to. “Yeah. I’ll get up now.”

His legs tremble as he gets out of bed.

There isn’t another true word said that morning, and Kenma waves a little bit after breakfast before retreating into the room to begin streaming.

 _Do you like it here with me are you okay with this do you want me I don’t think you want me I think you hate me I think you regret this_ **_youregretthisyouregretitall—_ **

Kuroo sinks to the floor and smashes a fist against the hardwood.

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Kenma always sleeps late, which is nothing new, of course. Forever a night owl, forever someone who falls asleep at ungodly hours in the morning. It would be painfully endearing if it didn’t concern Kuroo sometimes.

It’s different today (seriously, is Kuroo ever going to get a break?) because, of course, everything is changing around him and he’s still scared and he hates change and he loves Kenma (and Kenma probably doesn’t love him back).

Not right now—

_Not anymore._

And it’s _irrational_ —gosh, he is fully aware of the hopeless fact—but Kuroo isn’t the best at rational thinking, unbeknownst to many; known to himself, known to Kenma. It’s irrational and yet, there it is: the desolate fear, draining and desperate within him, tearing his insides apart and wrapping around his ribcage like vines, the earth-shattering thought that _he doesn’t love you anymore._

(And all of this sort of really stems from the fact that Kuroo hadn’t gotten a hug from Kenma for too long. Pathetic, really.)

It’s like Kenma is after some kind of disaster; he definitely moved in with Kuroo because he felt pressured to, right? It’s probably the only singular answer that can make any kind of sense in Kuroo's mind. He regrets this, regrets them, regrets it all, and oh, how could Kuroo let it escalate to this point? His skin itches but it’s not one that can be relieved, it’s an itch of despair and terror. He wants that stupid damn hug, he wants to be reassured that Kenma still loves him, he wants to tell all of this to Kenma but he’s just going to make everything worse.

Or maybe he’s terrified that if he brings it up, it’ll just be confirmed by Kenma.

That’s the impending nightmare. The scorching one that he wants to avoid at all costs.

And so, he doesn’t say anything about it. Not throughout the whole day, not as the sun dips below the edges of his vision and leaves the apartment all rosebud pink and vermillion in different shades of horror.

So, the current situation: it’s almost 3 a.m. and Kenma isn’t in bed yet.

And Kuroo shouldn’t be surprised but it’s the first time since they moved in together that Kenma had stayed up this late—he had started to get in bed earlier, even if he didn’t sleep, just so he could be next to Kuroo or whatever (Kuroo found it slightly comforting either way). It’s only Day 6, technically the beginning of Day 7, and everything keeps changing and changing and _changing_ and Kuroo can’t help but be frigid with terror at this knowledge. He can’t handle anymore change. It’s not possible; he’s at his fucking _limit_.

Therefore, he’s been staying awake because 1) he can’t sleep, and 2) he needs Kenma to be there before he sleeps as a last reach for comfort. Kenma is somewhere in the apartment, the only logical answer being in the living room, but why? Has he already grown tired of Kuroo’s constant presence floundering around him like a ghost? Kuroo doesn’t want to answer that.

It doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t matter, it _shouldn’t—_

He swallows, throat dry as he rolls over in bed again. The curtains drape over the window, only slices of moonbeams managing to trickle in the room, painting stars on the ceiling and leaving galaxies on the bedsheets. Kuroo could find it beautiful any other day. 

Today is not any other day. Everything just hurts today, a nauseating ache. Present yesterday. And tomorrow, it will hurt even more. He already knows.

 _Well, there is your answer, Kuroo Tetsurou, he’s in the living room because he’s tired of you already, why did you move in with him in the first place? He’s Kenma, you should’ve known he wouldn’t like this, even though you two are basically soulmates, he’s still him and you’re still you; loud and a constant annoying presence, too boisterous and twitchy for someone like Kenma, damn, you_ **_really fucked up_ ** _this time, didn’t you? Didn’t you? Didn’t you, Kuroo?_

Didn’t—

_Didn’t you?_

_Didn’tyoudidn’tyoudidn’tyou_

_You_ **_did_** _, didn’t you?_

**_DIDN’T_ **

**_YOU—?_ **

“Kuro?”

Soft. Soft hand on his shoulder. Akin to the stars; warm to the touch and grounding. He blinks.

There’s a pair of concerned eyes gazing at him, golden and catlike, so very beautiful in every sense of the word. Suddenly, Kuroo realizes how hard it is to breathe. 

“Are… you okay?” Kenma asks. The hand on Kuroo’s shoulder doesn’t move. “You’re pretty out of it. Don’t think you noticed I came in the room. Hey—breathe.”

Breathe. That’s what Kuroo is having trouble with, huh? “Yeah. Fuck. Yeah,” he mutters, jolting slightly at the realization that Kenma is still touching him, which is something he hasn’t experienced in so long. An _actual_ touch, _actual_ contact, not just Kenma poking at him to awaken him in the morning. 

It’s jarring. 

“Um. Kuro.” _(Kenma says his name with such delicacy it’s not fair to have someone so pretty say such a name it’s unfair so unfair how is Kenma so pretty pretty pretty)_ “Uh.”

Kuroo sits up at this. Kenma’s hand on his shoulder never wavers. “Yeah. I was just thinking. It’s late and you should be in bed by now. You usually are. I mean, since we moved in together. Um. I mean—”

“Can we just… talk?” Kenma suggests, gesturing for Kuroo to scoot over. Kuroo does so, and almost immediately does Kenma sink into the bed next to him, sitting up against the headboard. His hand had moved from Kuroo’s shoulder only to be placed gently on top of his thigh. And Kuroo is confused, _so confused,_ because doesn’t Kenma not want this— “It’s nothing bad, I think. But you’re acting weird, so _that’s_ bad, I think.”

He laughs a little, but it’s wry and bitter. “Weird, how?”

Kuroo doesn’t need to look at Kenma to know he’s scrunching up his nose at such a stupid question. “...Distant,” Kenma murmurs. “And really, really on edge. You make a face like you’ve been threatened every time I decide to look at you.”

Ah. “You make scary faces sometimes, Kenma. It’s the type of face you make when you’re busy concentrating on your game and, like, battling monsters or whatever. Naturally, a guy would be scared.”

“You’re making excuses,” Kenma shoots back immediately, because of course he can see right through Kuroo. “You know that’s not what I mean. Why are you treating me like I’m fragile?”

Kuroo is silent. 

And Kenma continues. “It’s—It’s like we’re back to square one, like way way way back, when we first met and you didn’t know how to act around me. Of course, I was still getting used to you and your enormous presence, but that was _years_ ago. We live together now, don’t we? Why does it feel like we’re back to that phase?”

“ _I’m_ the distant one? Why hadn’t you come here earlier? Usually you’re in bed earlier, but this time you stayed in the living room and I _get_ it, it’s hard to live with me, it’s new and frustrating, and it’s scary but I don’t think I’m all to blame here, am I?”

“Kuro—”

“I said I _get_ it, I know you regret moving in with me so that’s why I don’t want to touch you or talk to you about it because I’m absolutely terrified you’re going to say yes and then you’ll realize that maybe, becoming my boyfriend was a mistake you should’ve never made in the first place,” he says, and he doesn’t _want_ to ramble but everything is spilling out all at once and he _can’t stop—_ “It sucks I have to be so affectionate because I feel obligated to calculate the distance between you and me because you have boundaries, and I know you do, but holy shit it’s so _hard_ , Kenma…!”

“Kuro…”

He chokes up a little bit as he continues his rant, all the feelings and unsaid words bubbling beneath the surface and coming up all at once, a volcano, a violent eruption, a torrent of emotions. Ah, so this is the storm that’s been brewing, isn’t it? “Kenma, if you really don’t like living with me, just let me know, okay? I thought this was going to be, like, a forever thing, and I’m probably overthinking this all but if you don’t want this to be a forever thing—don’t want _us_ to be a forever thing—just tell me, _please—_ ”

The words stop abruptly when a small hand cups his cheek, turning his head and forcing him to stare into golden eyes. 

Kenma looks at him, biting his lip. And then, “Take a deep breath, okay, Kuro? I’m not mad at you. I’m not trying to call you out on anything. I just… wanted to know _why_. There’s nothing wrong with you, Kuro. Thank you for telling me what’s been bothering you.” A second hand comes up to cup Kuroo’s other cheek. “Deep breath. The world isn’t rushing you. Is there anything else? I’m listening.”

And Kuroo can’t swallow past the lump in his throat this time. 

The tender eyes focused on him are golden in all of its pretty luster, polished and refined, drinking him up and pouring love and absolute fondness into every single one of Kuroo’s wounds littering his body, the battleground of irrational thoughts and silenced words. Moonbeams make their way, mingling with gold, producing a galaxy. And Kuroo—he _can’t_ anymore, he—

“I think I need a hug,” he says.

Kenma brings him in immediately.

Ah.

_Ah._

This is what he’s been wanting for so long, huh?

There’s barely any room for processing any of this in his mind, which is on overdrive and malfunctioning but he at least has the reaction to clutch at the back of Kenma’s shirt, tentatively, hesitant. A still-silent question. A moment more of an unsaid asking for permission.

_You’re okay with this?_

When Kenma’s hold doesn’t falter, Kuroo hugs him back with vigor.

It’s almost unsettling, really, how much Kuroo hugs him in return like he hasn’t been hugged in years, which he _knows_ is a hyperbole but it certainly feels as if he hadn’t been held like this for that long. There’s too much to take in—Kenma’s body wash, strawberry scented and dizzying; the hands that are carefully placed at the small of his back; the soft sleep shirt that Kuroo is nosing at with his face buried in the half-blond’s shoulder.

And still, he has nothing more to say. At least not now, not yet. He can let himself have this first.

Kenma’s hands—gentle, soothing—still for a quick moment before they begin to rub tiny circles into Kuroo’s back, applying the slightest pressure against tense muscles. It’s a feeble gesture but it makes Kuroo bubble up with so much unrestrained adoration that it _hurts_. 

“...Kuro,” Kenma says, in a voice that only the sharpest of ears can pick up on the love that’s concealed in it.

(Kuroo can hear it, though.)

“Kenma,” he says in reply, voice muffled from where he’s pressed against Kenma’s shoulder.

“I love living with you,” Kenma says after a pregnant pause, like he needs some time to think over the words. “And… I’m not good at expressing it with words, but I love living with you and I don’t regret anything. It wasn’t a mistake when I became your boyfriend, and, um, I _do_ want this to be a forever thing.”

He—

_What?_

Kuroo pulls back from the hug (he keeps a hand on Kenma’s) and looks at him, at the silent question that’s in his eyes, quiet and serene. “You—You mean that?”

Kenma tilts his head to the side. “Yeah.”

Kuroo can’t afford to choke up again, but alas, here he is, doing exactly that; it’s not his fault, not when iridescent eyes full of starlight are gazing at him with such fond concern and affection that it squeezes his heart so much he thinks he may just explode. “So was I overthinking? Why did you stay out later than usual tonight? I thought it was ‘cause you didn’t wanna—didn’t wanna be near me?”

He watches as Kenma’s brows furrow, and for a split second he fears he said something wrong, but those fears are diminished when Kenma intertwines his fingers with Kuroo’s, smaller fingers slipping in between long and bony ones like they were meant to do this all along. 

Maybe they were.

“I’m sorry,” Kenma apologizes sincerely, voice quiet. “I thought it wouldn’t be an issue. I thought you needed space, because you were acting all weird, and I’m not good at asking people what they need or how to… how to provide it. I’ll do better. I promise. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to—”

“I’m your boyfriend, Kuro,” Kenma murmurs. “I do need to. Be better at some things, that is, because I don’t want to ever hurt you or anything. Um. I, um. I love you.”

He says that last part with a firm quietness, just shy of a whisper, but it’s the loudest thing that reverberates in Kuroo’s ears. _He loves you. He loves you, did you hear that? Did you hear that, Kuroo?_

Kuroo gawks for a second, processing.

And then he brings Kenma’s hand up, smothering messy kisses across his knuckles with a choked up noise, and, _no_ , he’s _not_ about to start crying.

He starts crying because he’s just an idiot who’s relieved and in love, an idiot who’s painfully in love, an idiot who whispers out a ragged “I missed you so much” as he grips Kenma’s hand in his and lets his tears make rivulets cascade down moonlit cheeks. The words come out again, involuntary, another choked “I missed you” as he turns his head to press another open-mouthed kiss against Kenma’s hand.

“I missed you,” Kenma mutters back, a bit breathless and it’s so, so pretty and quiet and the moonlight carries his voice away to join the stars and, wow, Kuroo is so in love. “I missed you, too, Kuro.”

And, at this point, Kuroo can’t stop himself from letting his hands leave Kenma’s and gently ghost against his boyfriend’s cheeks, fingertips twitching against pink-tinted skin, before he lets them rove along Kenma’s neck; this elicits a soft noise from him, and Kuroo feels the emotions come in hot and the self-control fall away fast.

There’s nothing more to say, there is just _them_ , existing in the moment for an ephemeral pause. Kenma is the first to move, hands gripping at the front of Kuroo’s shirt and tugging ever so gently to bring him forward; Kuroo’s breath catches in his throat as his nose brushes against his boyfriend’s, a slight flash of skin-to-skin contact before the inevitable storm.

The moonlight flickers. They flicker back.

(And then the storm sets in, abrupt.)

Kuroo leans in, a hurricane in all of its reckless glory. The kiss is gentle. Slightly hesitant, in a way, bordering on the edge of unsure—just Kenma’s soft lips against his, flavorless chapstick on Kuroo’s tongue, his own slightly chapped lips slowly deepening the kiss.

Kenma grunts a bit before he slinks one of his hands to the back of Kuroo’s head, all hesitation shattering when he pushes Kuroo impossibly closer. It makes Kuroo gasp softly before he complies, lips slotting together like the puzzle pieces they are, like magnets; positive and negative sides mingling. It’s electrifying and sweet and saccharine and Kuroo is _so_ enamored with the boy in front of him. 

His hands move from Kenma’s cheeks, to his torso, down to his hips and drinking in the warmth, a while’s worth of touch-starvation taking in its satisfying fill to calm the gnawing hunger that’s been living within him for way too long at this point. Kenma makes another soft noise, and then he tugs Kuroo closer again, the distance between them naught, eyes closed as the moonlight dances along exposed skin.

“I love you,” Kuroo says after a gulp of air, voice breaking, the tears beginning to fall again. He sobs against Kenma’s lips without meaning to, but Kenma only leans away to let him breathe a bit before kissing him again. The kiss is saltier this time, but Kenma says nothing as Kuroo shudders from all the emotions he can’t express. 

“Mhm,” Kenma hums absentmindedly, teeth tugging slightly at Kuroo’s bottom lip before he leans away again. “Don’t cry.”

“There’s a lot going on,” Kuroo confesses, laughing slightly with a shake in his words, vision blurry. “T-There’s a lot I’m feeling right now.”

Kenma nods in understanding, leaning forward to press his forehead against Kuroo’s with a gentle sigh, hands finding their place on Kuroo’s cheeks, thumbing away the hot tears from his cheeks. Kuroo’s face burns shades of crimson, and he laughs again, fond and relieved and everything else he doesn’t dare explain. Kenma’s hold on him doesn’t falter once.

“I meant everything I said,” Kenma says after a brief silence, like he needs to clarify. “Just… in case you thought I didn’t.”

“No, I know,” Kuroo says, because for Kenma to express himself so openly, Kuroo is going to take the words and cherish them forever. 

“I won’t stop touching you.”

Kuroo swallows thickly, because that’s exactly what he needs; the warmth of Kenma against him, ferocious yet forbearing, drenching him in love. He turns his head to nose against Kenma’s palm still pressed at his cheek, damp from Kuroo’s own tears. After a thought, he presses a small kiss there, too.

Kenma’s gaze is stunning. Kuroo wants to stay like this until the aurora arrives and tinges the horizon, luminous, searingly hot.

(They do. Well, sort of. Kuroo falls asleep with his back to Kenma’s chest, even though he doesn’t fit very well—they make it work anyway. They can make this work. 

Or rather, they’ve always made it work, but now Kuroo’s doubts have been battled away by one very precious Kozume Kenma. 

The suffering is over, he decides. He’s wanted. Kenma wants him. Kenma wants _this_.

There’s love piercing the air, effervescent, eternal. It shatters the earth around them, and it, along with the rising sun, paints the room shades of warm vermillion; roses twining around limbs and squeezing them reassuringly, starlight sleeping under the concealed moonlight.

Kuroo and Kenma sleep along with it, too.)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! kudos + comments always appreciated!! :D


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